


Sweet Memories of Bliss

by amyfortuna



Series: 2015 Season of Kink (Card 1) [9]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Anal Sex, Armpit Kink, Blow Jobs, Come as Lube, First Time, Hair Brushing, Hair Kink, Hair-pulling, M/M, Nipple Play, Obedience, Teen Crush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-13
Updated: 2015-09-13
Packaged: 2018-04-20 15:39:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4793039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amyfortuna/pseuds/amyfortuna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the year 416 of the First Age, Barahir has a hopeless crush on Finrod. Well, maybe not so hopeless after all, given time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweet Memories of Bliss

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sath](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sath/gifts).



> This fulfils my 'obedience' square for Season of Kink. 
> 
> As prompted by Sath!

The day was a pleasant one in Dorthonion. The scent of pine and woodsmoke drifted on the air, the long yellowed summer grasses waved slightly in the breeze in concert with the branches of pine trees above them, casting shifting shadows back and forth. All around the buzzing of cicadas could be heard. Finrod stood just outside Andreth's house, waiting for her to return from her errand. His esquire had already taken their horses to the stables, and the rest of his escort were setting up camp just outside the town. 

"Come here." Finrod jerked his chin at the young boy who was gazing at him, mouth agape, and the boy rushed over immediately, leaving the sticks he had been gathering in a heap next to the muddy path. "Close your mouth; you'll catch flies," he said, and the boy blushed pleasantly, drawing his lips into a firm line. But even the changed expression of his face could not deny the hero-worship in his eyes. "How old are you anyway, and who are you?" 

The boy started to speak but his voice cracked and came out higher than he had clearly intended. "I'm - ah - eighteen, my lord, and I'm Barahir, son of Bregor." 

"Eighteen, my lad?" Finrod said, putting his hands behind his back and fixing Barahir with a keen stare. "Try fourteen, and I'll believe you." 

Barahir shook his head. "All right, very well, I'm nearly seventeen, and that's the truth." And then he was stepping closer, hands flying up to be clasped at his chest. "My lord, I will do anything you ask of me." Something bright and dangerous was shining in his eyes. "Whatever you wish, anything at all." This last was said in breathless rush that betrayed the nature of his feelings more obviously than a confession of love would have done. 

Finrod's lip curled, though he tried to repress it and smile pleasantly. He couldn't help thinking that the ultimate expression on his face was something similar to how he had looked when presented with grubs, roasted Dwarven-style, many years earlier whilst very hungry. Come to think of it, those grubs hadn't been half bad, in the end. Maybe this boy wouldn't be, either, once he'd grown up a little. 

"Well, then, carry on gathering firewood," he said, gesturing at the abandoned heap of sticks. "That's surely more important than anything else you could do for me right now." 

"If you wish," Barahir said, and made his way back over the pile of sticks, gathering it up in his arms, and trudging off, not without a backwards look at Finrod, standing there on the wooden veranda, frowning pensively. The Edain had a saying: _it's as if a goose walked over my grave_ , and though Finrod couldn't see what geese had to do with it, he had a similar chilling feeling, meeting young Barahir. 

\-----

"Did you cast a spell over my young nephew?" Andreth said, laughing, over a year later, the next time Finrod stopped by. "He won't stop bringing me firewood. To be frank, he's gone from a young scapegrace who never cared for chores to one who might prove fair to do honour to the house of Beor someday, and he gives you all the credit for it." 

"The boy had his heart too much in his eyes," Finrod said, smiling back. "I merely gave him an outlet for his feelings. If it's done you good, I'm glad for that." 

"'The boy' you say." Andreth grinned. "I think you'll find him much changed, now." She tossed a glance back over her shoulder at the road leading up to her house. "Well, as if on cue, he appears! You'd best go and give him another task, or there won't be any trees left in Dorthonion to strip for firewood." She laughed, opening the door of the house. "I'll be back in a moment." She was holding a basket of herbs, and quickly disappeared into the house with them. 

"My lord?" Barahir called out as soon as he was within earshot. His voice was deeper, more melodious, and he was both taller and broader than the slip of a boy Finrod remembered. He would never be the tallest of his people, nor indeed the broadest, but was a pleasantly sturdy sight to look at, and best of all, had the beginnings of a beard. 

"Barahir," Finrod said. "I have heard rumours of your deeds this last year." 

Barahir hadn't lost the art of blushing, and cast his eyes down. "It was nothing, my lord, I simply wished to obey you, as I promised I would." 

Finrod stepped closer. This near, he was only a little taller than Barahir, who glanced up at him quickly, shyly seductive, and licked his lips in a very telling manner. Finrod could feel his body react to the offer clearly displayed in every line of the young man's body, and half wanted to tell him to get on his knees and suck him off, there in the grass. The other half of himself was a little bit horrified - the boy was eighteen, still a boy, almost, even by the standards of his own people, still with an obvious case of hero-worship, and this was not appropriate. 

"If you wish to obey me," he said after a long moment of just staring at him silently, "then you shall have the opportunity. I will take you into my service for a year and a day, where you'll train with my soldiers. You will need to remember that any order given by my captains is the same as an order from me, when I am not there. You will need to be disciplined and motivated." He paused for a moment. Barahir had looked up and his eyes were alight with excitement and hope. "And your father will need to be able to spare you."

Barahir nodded. "He will, I'm sure of it, at your request, my lord." 

"Very well, then," Finrod said. "Kneel down, Barahir son of Bregor." Barahir cast him a grateful look and dropped instantly to his knees. Finrod drew his sword and laid the flat of it on the young man's shoulder. "Make your pledge of fealty."

Barahir straightened his shoulders, looking up into Finrod's eyes, towering above him. "I pledge to you my service for a year and a day - " and then as if he could not hold back the words, "- and all the days of my life if you so desire. I will obey your orders without delay, guard your borders bravely, fight and if need be die for you willingly and without hesitation." 

"I accept your pledge of service," Finrod said, resheathing his sword and extending his hand. Barahir took it and stood swiftly and smoothly. "Tomorrow morning, report to my captain, Eledhiel. Tonight, gather your belongings and say goodbye to your friends." 

"Yes, my lord," Barahir said, letting go of Finrod's hand. He glanced around Finrod and smiled at Andreth, leaning in the doorway with her arms crossed. "See you later, aunt!" 

Finrod turned, warily, giving Andreth a cautious glance. She was not smiling. "So that's the way of it," she said, unfolding her arms. "Well, come in, Elf-lord, for you and I have much to discuss." 

"Is it not my custom to take some of your boys for training?" Finrod said, following her into the house. "You do get them back soon enough and they tend to be much more proficient in the use of the sword and the bow than when they went away."

"Oh, it's not the tradition I object to," Andreth said. She turned to face him in front of the fire, her dark eyes flashing at him, silver hair backlit by the flames. She looked rather like his own mother in this light, the dim shadows hiding her wrinkles, and Finrod recoiled from the comparison. "But you'll break my nephew's heart, my lord. I know it's not a question of marriage here, but Barahir all but worships you, and looks at no one else."

"What would you have me do? I could ride away never to return," Finrod said, raising his eyebrows at Andreth's immediate and swift shake of her head, "but I suspect you would agree that would be no kindness to him. And yet you would not have me take him into my service, where he can make trial of his passion and put it to some good use?"

Andreth laughed suddenly. "Oh, that I had been a boy, to have ridden away with your brother long ago! It's you I fear for as much as Barahir, for if I had been with your brother for a year and a day, rather than a mere few days beside Aeluin with stars caught in my hair - a fine flattery! - Aegnor would not have known what hit him, and our story would have been much different." 

"Still to end in grief though, perhaps," Finrod said, "for one or the other of you, if not both." 

"Maybe the grief would have been more endurable, with memories to sweeten it." She straightened suddenly, standing at her tallest, and it seemed to Finrod as though the years fell away from her face, and she was again the laughing maiden of near forty years ago. "Did I not say that for one year, one day of the Flame I would have given all?"

"You did," Finrod said with a sigh. 

She stepped closer, and her voice dropped to a whisper, sibilant and hushed. "So would we all - just one year, just one day. Grief comes to us all, willing or unwilling, but do your sweet memories of bliss not comfort you in the darkness, when there is no hope? Do you not make songs of jewels strewn on beaches, of the birds sweetly singing in your home, of the sighing of the Sea?" 

"Yes," Finrod said. "And all those memories have come, or will come, someday, to a grievous end." 

Andreth smiled. "Yet they are worth having." She turned away, taking a candle from the mantel and lighting it quickly from the fireplace, then lighting several other candles using its flame. "Well, come then, candle!" she said, gesturing to Finrod. "Moths may flicker and die in your light, but we gather around you of our own choice, and would grieve if your light was taken from us. So sit down -" she gestured to a chair near to the fire, " - and let us speak of moths and candles. How fares your brother in his Northlands?" 

\------

"Arrows on string, everyone!" Eledhiel called out as the Orc-band approached. 

Finrod, in the middle of the mounted group, turned to Barahir on his left side. Barahir had been with them for eight months, but this was his first actual combat. "I hope you've been practicing your archery!" he said, and Barahir gave him a swift grim look, laying an arrow to the string like he knew exactly what he was doing. "And with your sword, as well." He glanced down to where Barahir's sword was sheathed at his hip, and Barahir gave him another look, but this one was all made up of silent laughter in his eyes, a softening of the grimness of his face into something secret and sweet. 

"You'll soon learn how well my sword can parry, my lord, fear not," he said, and then continued, in a whisper, pitched just low enough that Finrod was the only one who could hear him. "It rises at your bidding, and will not rest until you are satisfied." He arched an eyebrow, and almost against his own will, Finrod found himself laughing. 

"Archers, fire!" Eledhiel shouted in a loud voice, and then the air filled with the singing of bows, Barahir's and Finrod's both among them. The Orcs were wearing decent armour for once, but the wolves they rode on were not. Still, it was not enough, and the Orcs came on. 

They clashed together, the wolf-mounted Orc-band, and the Elven guard of Finrod on their fine horses. Finrod, in the centre of the group, did not immediately have to fight, and watched Barahir parrying with his sword, diving under and around the Orc-armour to pierce the hard skin underneath. His first Orc fell after a moment. Barahir did not have the speed or refined skills of the Elves in his guard, but he made up for it with hard work, trading blows relentlessly, giving no ground. 

An Orc aimed for Finrod, and then he too was in the thick of the fight and could watch no more. But Barahir stayed by him, even when the fight drifted out across the snow-covered ground and under the trees of the forest, where it was darker and there was less snow. They were nearing the last of the band, when an Orc got in a lucky blow even as Finrod stabbed him, and cut Finrod's horse from under him. Barahir turned at the horse's scream, and caught Finrod's hand with his own immediately, abandoning his own fight. To stand on the cold ground and fight against wolf-riders was death, and they both knew it.

Finrod leaped onto the back of Barahir's horse and cut down the Orc who was attempting to kill Barahir. The Orc's axe was on its way down towards Barahir's skull when Finrod's sword caught it in the throat. They both looked around swiftly, but there were no more Orcs in sight. No one at all was in sight, lost under the shadows of the trees in the faint light of an early winter evening. 

"Thank you," Barahir said breathlessly. 

Finrod settled down behind him, sheathing his sword. "I owe you thanks, too," he said. "You are reckless and foolhardy, but I cannot fault it, since it was in my defence." 

"I'll come to your defence always, my lord, as I promised I would," Barahir said, twisting his head to look up at Finrod. Finrod felt a sweeping thrill rush over him, almost a shiver, at the intent in Barahir's eyes, the passion that lingered there. It was too much and not enough at the same time. 

"You'll come to my defence?" he said. "Very commendable, but tonight, will you come to my tent?" He delivered the invitation in cool, measured tones, but there could be no doubt of his true meaning. 

Barahir's shoulders, in front of him, distinctly rose and fell as a shudder of pleasure passed through him. He was still looking up at Finrod, mouth a little open. It made him look almost too young again, and Finrod leaned forward, pressing his lips to Barahir's, making sure that there could be no misunderstanding. 

"I will, my lord," Barahir breathed once the kiss broke, and turned away, guiding the horse. But the sound of his breath coming a little faster than usual could be heard all the way back to their camp. 

\------

There was no moon that night, but a high breeze blew through the trees, and Finrod's tent was set a little apart from the rest to the south, near the banks of a small rivulet, just deep and wide enough to prevent an attack by Orcs from the west. There had likely been only one Orc-band sent out to patrol this area at this time, and they had killed every last one of them, so Finrod did not fear too much an attack by night. 

Barahir had gone to considerable lengths to make himself presentable, and Finrod smiled at his still slightly damp hair, hastily brushed, as he entered the tent. He turned to the guard who stood just outside.

"You may go to your rest now," he said pleasantly. "The main watch will do - I am sure nothing will slip past them, so I have no need for a personal guard as well." 

"Very well, my lord," the guard said, closing the tent flaps down and passing the ropes to Finrod, who tied the tent closed firmly and turned to Barahir with a smile. 

"Let me brush your hair," he said immediately, pulling out his comb - a silver one given him by his aunt Findis - from his pack. 

Barahir gave Finrod a wavering smile at that. "Of course." He glanced around the tent. "Where do you want me?" 

Finrod could hardly hold back the smirk in his voice. "On the bed, naturally, my dear." 

Barahir laughed, and suddenly looked much more at ease. "Naturally." He removed his clothing quickly and efficiently, then settled on the wide low bed made up of cushions and furs, kneeling with his back to Finrod, the long line of his spine straight, head bent a little, dark hair tumbling loose in waves down his shoulders. Finrod's mouth felt dry and his body was hot all over at the sight of him. He couldn't help but stare for a few seconds, but finally managed to move forward, and divest himself of his own garments fairly quickly, then knelt behind Barahir. 

At the first touch of the comb in his hair, Barahir gave a long, relaxed sigh, and dropped his head down further. For a few moments, Finrod brushed his hair, and brushed it again, until it was perfectly smooth. The smell of it was earthy, intoxicating, entirely unlike Elvish hair, and Finrod could feel himself growing hard just at the scent of Barahir's hair and skin. He wanted to kiss and lick him all over, gather up all of that scent for himself and hoard it like a dragon. 

Setting the comb aside, he gave a teasing tickle to Barahir's side, then pulled him down into the cushions, where Barahir squirmed and turned over, so that they were facing each other. "Kiss me," Finrod said, and Barahir immediately, enthusiastically, complied, pressing Finrod back into the cushions. Finrod could feel Barahir's cock against his stomach, already fully hard. 

His mouth drifted from Barahir's, kissing at his throat, down to his collarbone, sucking on one of his nipples. At that, Barahir arched up, pressing his nipple further into Finrod's mouth, making incoherent gasping noises. "I could almost spend from that alone," Barahir said breathlessly once Finrod released him. 

"We shall have to try that one day," Finrod said, and reached for him again, lifting his arms above his head. Barahir let his body be moved into whatever position Finrod liked, and Finrod took a moment to enjoy the long line of his frame, the dark growth of hair in his armpits (which he nuzzled at briefly and found to be soft and full of the scent of Barahir that he enjoyed so much), the line of hair leading from his navel down to the short dark hair at his groin, coarse like the hair of his beard. From that hair, Barahir's cock rose, a pink head peeking out from the brown skin that covered it. 

Finrod released Barahir's hands, and Barahir kept them obediently above his head. He made his way down with lips and teeth and tongue, prodding into Barahir's navel - Barahir laughed but did not squirm away, holding himself carefully still - then taking Barahir's cock into his mouth, licking at the head delicately, using his hand to pull the loose skin down to expose more of his erection. 

He looked up at Barahir's face; Barahir was looking down at him, eyes wide, breath coming in short sharp pants interspersed with gasps as Finrod's tongue played over his cock. 

"I want you to let go," Finrod breathed softly. "Lie back and come in my mouth, just like that." 

The back of Barahir's head immediately hit the cushions. "Yes, my lord," he said helplessly, and then, carefully, "It won't be long." 

It wasn't. Finrod had barely the chance to learn just exactly what made Barahir gasp and sob and sigh the most when Barahir's seed was filling his mouth. He spat it carefully into his hand. 

"Turn over," he said, and Barahir obeyed almost immediately, getting to knees and elbows with a languorous sigh, and letting his head drop down between his arms. Finrod parted Barahir's buttocks gently, pressing a slick finger into him. Barahir's cock had barely diminished after his orgasm, and it twitched between his legs when Finrod pushed another finger in, feeling his own need building to fever pitch. Barahir was tight but stretched quickly and easily, the slippery seed on Finrod's hand mingled with spit making it all the easier. "Now, just relax," Finrod said, coating his own cock with the remnants of Barahir's seed, and pressing inward. 

Barahir let out a hiss as he was entered, but quickly relaxed into it, meeting Finrod's thrusts steadily. He was fully hard again, but Finrod did not take pity on him and take his erection in hand. Rather he threaded both hands into Barahir's hair near the scalp and pulled back, so that Barahir rose up onto his hands, gasping. "Yes, please, yes, more!" he said, and Finrod pulled harder, careful to ensure that he had enough of Barahir's hair in his hands as to not truly hurt him. 

Raising him up onto his knees, unsupported by his hands, Finrod continued thrusting into him. Barahir's hand went to his own cock, rubbing it eagerly. Finrod bit at Barahir's shoulder, and whispered fiercely into his ear, "I want to see you spend again before I find my release inside you," and Barahir let his head fall back onto Finrod's shoulder, still rubbing frantically at his erection. 

Finrod let go of Barahir's hair, and brought his arms around him, holding him close, watching Barahir touch himself. "Close, so close, for you, my lord, please say I can," Barahir panted.

"My obedient vassal," Finrod breathed, "please do." 

Barahir let out a soft cry, eyelashes fluttering, and clenched around Finrod, coming onto his own stomach and chest, as well as Finrod's hands. At that, Finrod could no longer hold himself back, and spent into Barahir, clutching at him, falling down into the furs with him. Even as he fell he was wiping away the traces of Barahir's seed and bringing them to his mouth, tasting him, rubbing the rest into his own skin with delight. 

They lay for a long moment, panting breathlessly, and finally Finrod began laughing. "Your aunt was right," he said between giggles. 

Barahir's face seemed to be frozen in a look of horror. "Please don't tell me you discussed _any of this_ with her!" 

Finrod was still laughing. "No, no, not in detail," he said. "But this will be a memory I cherish - and oh, I hope I don't break your heart to have it!" He curled around Barahir, who shifted a little so he could look up at Finrod. 

"You won't," Barahir said, and smiled. "Love comes in many different guises and forms. I may be young, but I know all the many different desires of my heart, and for you it is not to be a chain or a burden, but to serve you in any way that I can, and to love you the same, and when it is time for our paths to part, to walk on with joy at the memories of the time I have spent with you, not with grief at what can never be." 

Finrod bent and kissed Barahir warmly. "Well learned and spoken, Barahir son of Bregor. And though our paths will part before long, this I will tell you, for I have seen it: that our fates are bound up together in some way, and we shall meet again before the end." 

Barahir nodded, grinning. "I'll renew my pledge to you now, against that day: I'll obey your orders without delay, guard you, my lord, bravely, fight and if need be die for you willingly and without hesitation." He reached up, drawing Finrod down, and kissed him, long and slow and sweet. 

"I accept your pledge of service, my vassal," Finrod said, laughing.


End file.
